


New Folsom I - Convict #626

by Colonial Marine (Orcbait)



Category: StarCraft
Genre: Bad Puns, Comfort/Angst, Doctor/Patient, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Imprisonment, Impromptu Sex, Prison Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-08 16:49:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orcbait/pseuds/Colonial%20Marine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not all promotions make life better, as Dr Emilie Dûvalle finds out shortly after becoming the Head of Medical of New Folsom Penitentiary's Maximum Security Sector. It is a bleak and lonely place, surrounded by people that see her job as a waste of time and credits. Yet even in a place as unwelcoming as New Folsom, a smile and a laugh may be found where they are not sought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in 2010, promptly after seeing that infamous cinematic featuring Findlay (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9rpCcLnauks). It would seem then, that his comment in-game about 'this one doctor he once met' isn't complete bull after all!
> 
> Picture is a in-game screen-grab and cut-out of Tychus Findlay.

  


  
_New Folsom Maximum Security Penitentiary. Convict #626. Pirate. Murderer. Traitor. Sentence:_   
_Solitary cryogenic incarceration. Life-sentence, no parole._   


 

Dr Emilie Dûvalle sat up in bed with a good deal of reluctance when her alarm clock went off. As she rubbed a hand past her face she glanced at its bright display. _Ugh, 23:45_. She sighed heavily while looking blearily around her sparsely furnished quarters. The concrete 2 by 3 was about as imaginative as a prison cell. She had often wondered if the staff quarters weren't exactly that: old-fashioned prison cells, gone obsolete with the introduction of cryogenic incarceration as the penitentiary's permanent resident facilities of choice. This notion didn't seem nearly as unlikely as she'd have liked. She remembered all too well the unsavoury smell of stale sweat and old blankets that had permeated the room when she had first arrived here. It had taken the better part of her deodorant can to overpower it. Though even now, nearly two years later, she could still smell it. Faintly. Like a bad memory unwilling to drift into the subconscious.

With a reluctant groan she got off of the hard cot and dragged herself to her minuscule bathroom. The shower cabin and wash basin barely fitted into the closet-sized space. Splashing cold water in her face she finally, truly, woke. She brushed her teeth as she scrutinized herself in the dirty mirror. Her long, golden blond hair was severely tousled and dark patches shadowed her sea-green eyes, which were still a bit puffy with sleep.

For several years she had worked as a physician at the New Folsom penal institution to treat wounded or otherwise medically incapacitated convicts. A little over half a year ago, she had received a substantial promotion and accompanying relocation to the Maximum Security Sector of the facility. This had occurred largely due to Dr Haldiven having quite suddenly taken his leave, for reasons that had not been shared with her, thus opening up his post. Initially she had been thrilled with her new, more important job – and its proportionally higher salary – as the primary physician of the Maximum Security Sector. Her joy, however, had been short lived as she had soon found out that she wasn't just the Sector's primary physician, she was the Sector's _only_ physician. There was no one to swap shifts with when she was tired or sick, because all shifts were her shifts. That wouldn't have been so bad if it hadn't been for the ungodly hours she had to work on. They were murder.

When she had finished brushing her teeth she washed her face thoroughly. She then combed her long hair and put it up in a knot, securing the bun with two decorative pins. Glancing once more in the mirror she masked the dark stains under her eyes a little with small dabs of powder. Aside from a hint of eye-liner and a soft pastel pink lipstick she didn't apply make-up. Taking her glasses from the edge of the sink she walked back into her bedroom. She put the glasses down on her bed as she took the t-shirt she slept in off. Glancing around, she snatched her bra from the small pile of clothes hanging over the wooden chair standing in a corner of the room.

Trying to avoid messing her hair up she carefully changed into her clothes. A clean, white blouse under a slipover that was nearly the same vivid sea-green colour as her eyes and a black, slightly past knee-length skirt that was neither tight nor loose. She liked to think it fell neatly, balancing nicely between professional and flattering. Putting her silver necklace with its small droplet-shaped pendant around her neck and her glasses on her nose she glanced at her alarm clock once more. _Hmm_. She had to go or she would be late! Grabbing her white lab coat from the chair she put it on while she walked to the door.

However, as she put her hand on the doorknob she frowned for a moment, then turned around and walked back to her bathroom. Taking up a small flask from the sink she sprayed some of its content on her neck, shoulder, midriff and upper leg. _Better_. Giving herself an approving nod in the mirror she walked back to the door and left her room. Closing the door behind her she locked it and walked swiftly down the corridor.

“Good evening, Steve,” she greeted the night guard as she rounded the corner. He sat behind his desk, his back turned to the hall, sipping coffee from an outrageously large mug while watching the late night news on Vermillion LIVE.

“Evenin' Emilie,” he replied cheerfully as he raised his mug in salute before turning to access his control panels. “Go ahead,” he said after a moment, giving her the thumbs up. After which Emilie walked through the two detector portals and the sensor tube blocking the way into the Maximum Security Sector. As always, nothing happened.

“Darn it, Em,” Steve commented with a grin, “again no full-body check!”

Emilie smiled faintly; he said that each and every evening. “Next time I'll bring a gun,” she replied as she always did.

“I'll hold you to that!” Steve answered, once more lifting his mug at her before turning his attention back to the TV.

After the security check she continued her way down another hall. In contrast to the previous one this one was pristine; its walls chalk white and the grey linoleum squeaking under her feet. The distinct smell of disinfectant hung thickly in the air. She didn't understand why her work hours were so late and irregular, spread across the night as they were, seemingly at random. Her work consisted of doing the semi-monthly health check-ups for those inmates serving sentences longer than 10 years in the penal institution's Maximum Security Sector, which had cryogenic vaults rather than traditional prison cells. It was beyond her why they couldn't defrost them on normal hours at regular times during the day.

Halfway down the hallway she stopped in front of a pair of sealed double doors. Typing the nine digit security code into the numeric lock she quickly pressed her thumb against the sensory pad and looked straight into the small scanner placed at eye-height above the lock. When her finger print and iris had been approved as well the doors opened, revealing her examination room.

The first time she had entered Dr Haldiven's workplace it had appeared to her more like the cold, impersonal clinic of a veterinarian than the office of a doctor. The central feature of the room was a large, metallic examination table big enough to accommodate patients of nearly any height or weight. Weighted down and fortified it was the sturdiest piece of furniture she had ever seen. When she entered, the table was positioned horizontally several meters in front of her, the head of the table on her left hand. Beyond it, against the left wall, was a tiled shower cabin with its entrance facing her. The white tiles had long since acquired a yellowish hue to them and the metal bottom of the cubicle sported rust where it joined the tiles. While it had a low bench and a hose on a peg it did not appear to have a door. Behind it, near the far left corner of the examination room, was a sturdy door which led to the cryogenic facility.

In front of the shower cabin, lining the walls between it and the door through which Emilie had entered, were various aluminium closets and several cupboards above worktops. Most of these contained various medicines and drugs as well as medical equipment. The right side of the examination room was largely empty. A sealed door in the right wall led to a small corridor with three prison cells to accommodate inmates that needed to stay under medical observation. However, the holding bay had become largely obsolete with the installation of the cryogenic holding vaults. Seeing as being frozen solid kept the inmates from acquiring most of the serious injuries that were common place in the other sectors of New Folsom due to airing time, communal hours and cell mates.

Emilie had tried to cheer the room up with some plants and artwork. As much to make herself feel more comfortable as to make her patients - she refused to use c-words such as 'convicts' or 'criminals' - feel more at ease. She was well aware that her patients were not hard working fathers or sons with construction labour accidents, they were some of the Imperium's greatest felons. She rarely read the digital records of her patients beyond their medical charts. Every human being deserved medical care when they required it. Not knowing their crimes made it easier for her to help them. It allowed her to approach them without judgement or fear. That way she could do her job to the best of her abilities.

As she walked towards the examination table she picked up a small injection gun lying on a nearby worktop. After checking its supply she put it in her lab coat's pocket. Its shots packed enough anaesthetics to knock a bull clean off its hooves in less than five seconds. Save for one or two incidents, however, her patients had been quite agreeable with her. She sat down on the edge of the examination table and picked up the holoboard from where she had left it last night. As soon as she touched it, it lid up, roused out of its stand-by mode by the movement. A slight frown creased her forehead when she scanned over the updated list of scheduled examinations, her eyes lingering at the top of the list.

 _#626 Findlay. Again?_ She had examined him not two days ago. Tapping his name on the holoboard she accessed the medical files she had on him. Aside from his medical charts a list containing her personal logs detailing his examinations appeared, neatly filed under the date on which she had examined him. Aside from two full physical exams most were logs of the semi-monthly occurring check-ups of the past half year. Besides a series of follow-up exams related to frostbite he had contracted in his right pinkie and ring finger the list didn't appear anything out of the ordinary. Scrolling down she looked at the last entries she had made. Surely enough, the very last one was only two days old. Yet there were two more entries she had made this month. Had she not noticed due to her busy schedule?

The frown on her forehead deepened as she examined the logs she had made. Severe bruising of head and torso were noted down in both entries as well as charts showing the locations of the injuries. She had made detailed entries of her treatment but the box labelled 'cause' was empty. Odd. The entry she had made two days ago showed once more notes of severe bruising to head and torso as well as a broken nose and two bruised ribs. This time, aside from a detailed entry concerning her treatment of his broken nose, a cause had been noted down: brawl. She remembered the wardens telling her, without her having asked, that an argument between Findlay and another inmate had gotten ugly. 

Clicking the log away she looked at several older ones. Aside from minor nicks and muscle aches there was nothing serious in them. Accessing his medical charts she looked over his personal information. Why had he been hurt so often all of a sudden? According to the data he had been here for nearly 7 years. Why did trouble start now? Coincidentally glancing over his sentence her frown turned into a look of confusion. That was odd. According to the chart he served a life-sentence in solitary cryogenic incarceration, just like the other inmates in this sector of New Folsom. How does one get into brawls in solitary lock-up? She had always thought the medical check-ups were the only reason the cryo inmates were taken out of their icy prisons.

She was roused out of her thoughts by a loud rap at the door. Hopping off the examination table she quickly straightened her clothes. “Come in!” she acknowledged as she walked around the table. As soon as she had answered the door that led to the cyrogenic facility opened.

A broad shouldered man with stern, hard features and short-cropped black hair entered the examination room. “Good evening, Emilie,” he said with a hint of contempt as a wry smile played around his lips while regarding her, “we have this evening's first _patient_ with us”.

Emilie's eyes narrowed a fraction at both his tone and the mocking way in which he said 'patient'. “Thank you _Sergeant_ Larwin,” she responded with equal loathing.

Immediately after the correctional officer had spoken three wardens with a prisoner between them entered the examination room, one after the other. It took Emilie a moment to recognise the man as Findlay, her eyebrows rising slightly in shock. He wore a sturdy but worn, vaguely orange jumpsuit that was only half closed. The once white tank top he wore underneath it was grubby and soaked in stains of dark red blood. Broad reinforced steel shackles hung around his wrists and ankles, connected to one another and his waist by chains. Easily 6'7” tall and packing over 350 pounds he towered over the wardens on all sides. However, the man wasn't his usual brazen self, with his head hanging slightly and his eyes drowsy he looked oddly subdued instead. Anger surged up inside as she wondered what kind of trash they had forced down his throat. How was she supposed to cure her patients if they got random shots of God-knew-what crap? Two days ago he had looked worse for wear but now she wouldn't be surprised if they told her he'd been run over by a freight train.

His rough, angular face was barely recognisable due to multiple injuries. Even his chocolate brown military cropped hair, normally shot with hints of grey, was dark and wet with sticky, reddish smears. His already mangled nose stood once more at an odd angle, blood seeping from it and leaking from his chin onto his chest. The way he breathed heavily and through his mouth didn't bode well. The left side of his face, particularly around his cheekbone, was severely bruised and showed the first signs of swelling, already hampering him in properly opening his left eye. Droplets of blood welled up from the broken skin near his left eyebrow. The right side of his jaw featured multiple bruises and a jagged tear, probably caused by his own teeth, ran across his bottom lip and stained his mouth and teeth red. His left arm hung limply next to him in a way that made Emilie think it might be dislocated. The clustering of bruises around his collarbones and the base of his neck accompanied by the broken nose and injured arm rang a bell in the back of her mind. It reminded her of something, yet the memory refused to resurface from the misty recesses of her mind.

A flicker of disapprove slipped past Emilie's face when she saw one of the wardens give Findlay a rap with his baton when he didn't enter the examination room fast enough. “Thank you, _warden_ ,” Emilie responded a coldly while gesturing towards Findlay. “Please remove those metal trappings”.

“Are you sure that is a wise plan, _doctor?_ ” Sgt Larwin asked, though his voice clearly betrayed he already had the answer to his question.

“They're in the way,” Emilie stated, not dignifying his question with an answer, “remove them”.

“As you please,” Sgt Larwin replied on a tone that left no doubt that he thought she was completely off her rocks for demanding them to unfasten the convict's binds. Taking a small, rectangular device from his pocket he typed in a code and held it several inches from Findlay's manacles. A few seconds later there was a soft click as they sprung open. Repeating the procedure he opened Findlay's fetter as well. One of the wardens swiftly removed the cuffs and chains from the convict after they had been unlocked.

“This way, if you please, Mr Findlay,” Emilie said as she motioned her hand towards the shower cabin. Findlay glanced from the cubicle to her and back, then nodded barely perceptible and walked heavily towards it while holding his left arm close against his torso with his right hand. Out of the corners of her eyes Emilie could see one of the three wardens imitating her, the other two stifling snorts of laughter as an amused smile flickered across the Sergeant's face. She ignored them, as always. She was well aware of the fact that most of the prison's security personnel thought her job was a right waste of credits.

“Goodnight, gentlemen,” she said pointedly when they hadn't left by the time Findlay had lumbered over to the shower cabin, putting her hands on her hips as she looked at them over the rim of her thin glasses.

The Sergeant briefly touched his cap in a mock salute. “We'll leave you to care for it then,” again that smile flitted across his hard features, never reaching his eyes. “Come boys, the doctor needs her _private_ time”.

Emilie watched them leave, glaring at their back sides. When the door closed behind them she turned back to her patient.


	2. Chapter 2

She pushed up her sleeves as she walked towards Findlay, who leaned heavily against the tile wall of the cubicle. He was still holding his arm. Observing once more his detached, absent state of mind she wondered if it might be the result of an underlying medical condition rather than the wardens drugging him to keep him docile. She knew Sgt Larwin often instructed his men to do so, especially with the bigger inmates. She'd give him an antidote later, to make sure it wasn't a medical symptom.

With an air of routine she stepped closer to him and opened the jumpsuit completely. Pushing it off his shoulders she guided his arms out. Deprived of its support the sorry excuse for a garment fell away from his body like the shapeless sack it was. Taking the tank top off proved a little more difficult, not in the least because some of the blood it had absorbed had dried and caked against the wounds it had come from. She pulled the impossibly dirty garment away as carefully as she could, trying her best to avoid reopening already closed wounds. Unfortunately, most of the time, this turned out to be unavoidable.

Taking his appearance she was astounded by the amount of injuries. There were many clusters of bruises across his shoulders, back and chest as well as various cuts that bled sorely. Seeing him sway slightly on his legs she quickly guided him to sit down on the cubicle's narrow bench. After leaning his weight back against the wall, making sure he wouldn't fall over, she walked to the worktop and took two bowls from the cupboard. One she filled with clean, cold water from the tap. In the other she put a splash of a slightly murky, orange-brown liquid from a large flask standing near the sink. Putting a bottle of clear liquid under her arm she picked up both bowls and put everything down on a small ledge on the inside of the cubicle. She then walked back to the sink to retrieve a sponge and a tube of PH-neutral soap gel.

Mindful only of his eyes she cleaned him thoroughly from ears to toes. After several minutes of thorough cleaning she took a step back and appraised her work for a moment. Without the dirt and blood-stains he already looked a lot healthier. Picking a clean towel from a nearby laying pile she superficially dried him off. Taking the bottle with clear disinfectant she momentarily tipped it against the towel, drenching part of it. Having done this she wiped off his body once more, after which she carefully dabbed some of the orange-brown liquid onto the open wounds on his body.

“That's that then,” she said as she put the towel and bowl down once more. Helping him up by putting an arm around his waist and holding his good arm over her shoulder, she tried her best to keep standing with his body unceremoniously slumped against her. “This way now, Mr Findlay,” she said while guiding him to the examination table as quickly as she dared. It was only eight feet away but it felt like a mile. If Findlay lost his balance she'd be in trouble. He was easily three times her weight, far too heavy for her to hold on her own, and she doubted she'd have time to get away from his falling bulk and avoid being flattened if he lost his footing. “If you will...” she began. But, leaning heavily onto the metallic table, he was already pulling himself onto it and lay down on his back of his own accord. He wasn't that far off then after all.

She started towards a close by cabinet, but changed her mind. She better set his nose first. It was going to hurt, so the less he was aware of it, the better. Turning around she walked to the head of the table. Leaning over his torso she took his jaw in her left hand while taking his nose between the thumb and index finger of her right hand. “This, I am afraid, is going to hurt,” she said as she took a firmer hold on his jaw, her fingertips digging through his cheeks in the spaces between the corners of his jaw bone and the muscles attached to them on either side. His eyes wandered non-committed across the ceiling, as if he hadn't heard her. Taking a deep breath she suddenly twisted her right hand. A wet crack that sent goose bumps down her back sounded through the room as she did so. The only indication her patient had felt it was a convulsive clenching in the jaw muscles under her fingertips as his eyes flew to hers while his left leg suffered a momentary spasm.

“There, there,” she said automatically while patting his cheek as she examined his now moderately straight nose. Taking two small, barely half an inch long, hollow tubes from a tray attached to the table she carefully inserted them into his nose, pressing the mangled cartilage back into place and allowing him to breathe through it again. She made sure his nose was set correctly and that he could breathe easily before walking to the cupboard. She returned with two thin, finger-length flat strips of metal, a strip of Band-Aid cloth and a spray can. After cleaning his face once more, his nose started to bleed a bit, so she drenched the strip of cloth in disinfectant before putting it over his nose bridge. Taking the thin strips of metal she pressed them to either side of his nose. She shook the spray can briefly before she shielded his eyes with her hand and sprayed a thin layer of its see-through content over the cloth and metal, the liquid rapidly solidifying. When she was done she glanced down his body at his other injuries. She'd need him to be present of mind to correctly diagnose them. Bone break, organ strain, muscle sprain and what not all had the habit of looking exactly the same on the surface: bruising and swelling. God knew he had a lot of both. Not to mention that she would probably need his help with setting his arm. The corded muscles normally keeping it firmly in place, were now keeping it firmly out of place. She doubted she had the strength to stretch them on her own.

Walking once more to one of the cupboards she took a clean, disinfected rag and a small bottle. Twisting off the cap she pulled a face at its bitter, stinging scent. While walking back to her patient she held the rag to the bottle and tipped it once quickly. Putting the bottle on the table, she sat down on its corner, her knee near his shoulder and the side of his head against her thigh. Laying her left hand once more around his jaw to keep his head steady she pressed the rag over his mouth and nose. The effect, to her relief, was quite instantaneous. Sgt Larwin had drugged him after all.

“Welcome back, Mr Findlay,” she said when his eyes opened a fraction wider, their pupils narrowing to half their previous size as they for the first time that day focussed on the world around him. “Don't sit up,” she continued as she removed the rag from his face while getting up, pressing a hand to his collar bone to push him back down. She had seen him shift as if to put his elbows under his shoulders to press himself up. Leaning over him she took a thin flash light out of her pocket and shone it briefly in his eyes, watching the reaction of his pupils closely. Satisfied, she took his wrist and laid two fingers against her own neck, closing her eyes briefly while counting. “How do you feel today, Mr Findlay?” she asked while taking her stethoscope from the table and listening to his heart.

“Ooohh,” he drawled, the muscles in his abdomen tightening a little as he lift his shoulders a fraction to be able to look her in the eyes as he spoke. “Ah'll be juust fiiine now that Ah 'noh them goons honoured mah request tah have mah faaavourite nurse tah patch me up.” His voice, a low bass with a deep chested tremor, was hoarse and dry as sand paper. His accent, coarse and drawled, had a faintly nasal quality to it, as if he had a budding cold.

When Emilie looked up at him, over the rim of her thin glasses, one corner of his mouth twitched up into a crooked and distinctly roguish grin. It set a twinkle in his brown – no, amber – eyes that one might expect in a teenager up to no good, rather than an adult man. Let alone a convict with a life-sentence. Emilie glanced away, attempting to hide the smile that was trying to slip onto her face.

“Ya 'noh,” he boldly pressed on, regarding her still as an amused, boisterous quality crept into his voice, which multiplied his impish demeanour by at least a factor 10. “Ah much rather wake lookin' inta your honey-sweet lil' snout, doc, than tah ol' coot's gob. Even if Ah havta wake on this damn metal slab instead o' between ya sweet girly-smellin' sheets”.

Emilie's eyebrows rose simultaneously at his brazenness. Whatever drug they had used on him, it clearly hadn't addled his mannerless wit. “You really shouldn't be doing that Mr Findlay,” she said after a moment, putting a hand across the intersection of his pectorals and pressing him back flat onto the metal examination table, leaving it up for interpretation whether she meant his leaning up or his rather forward comments. Walking to the worktop she took a liquid pack from the small freezer and wrapped a clean towel around it. Returning to her patient she pressed it against the swollen side of his face. “Keep it cool and the swelling will be gone in a few minutes,” she said as she picked up his hand and put it on the wrapped ice pack.

“Ah have a name, doooc,” he responded, glancing at her out of the corners of his eyes, not lifting his head and shoulders again, while holding the ice against his face. 

“I am aware of this, Mr Findlay. I have one too,” she commented as she listened to his lungs, “deep breath, please”. 

He did so and held it for several seconds. “Ya could use it,” he supplied when he let go of his breath. 

“That I could,” she answered while holding the stethoscope to his abdomen, putting pressure with her free hand on spots across his stomach, before moving it down along his greater and lower intestine while meticulously feeling for any sensitive or obstructed areas. 

“Hmm, Ah bit loowah, suggah...” Findlay said after a while, staring up at the ceiling with a faint smile around his lips. 

“Where does it...?” Emilie started to ask, but when she glanced down to see which location of pain he might mean, understanding dawned on her. She rolled her eyes as she took them off his exposed loin. _Men..._ Walking around the table she stopped next to his shoulders and leaned over him to be able to look him in the eyes, her hands on her hips. “Are you hitting on me, Mr Findlay?” she inquired. 

“Ooohh, Ah dunnooh,” he drawled while momentarily glancing down her body. The little twitch at the corner of his mouth told Emilie more than enough. While her eyes narrowed slightly at his words, they also made her want to smile. Belatedly reacting to his wandering eyes she straightened quickly as a tiny frown creased her forehead. Normally, when one of her patients acted like this, and they did so more often than not, she cut them off immediately. She knew she was the only woman around this part of the prison. Preferring not to know the details of their isolation wrought fantasies she therefore spelled out her personal boundaries crystal clear to them, her frosty demeanour returning their depraved minds to their icy prisons prematurely. Why did she let it linger with this one? She didn't normally feel flattered by the crude remarks either. 

Taking a thin, hand length metal rod out of the pocket of her lab coat she tapped his chin with her index finger, indicating for him to open his mouth. Holding his tongue down with the rod she inspected his throat, mouth and teeth. _It were his eyes._ She glanced up at them; they were mischievously smiling back at her. _A smile is only genuine when the eyes laugh too. Remember that, Emilie,_ she recalled her mother's words, _the eyes are the mirrors of the soul._ She wondered if this could be true. His eyes weren't detached, or suspicious, or cruel, or demeaning, or predatory. They were... kind. The kindest she had seen in over three years. With their orangey-brown hue it was as if they ever reflected the comfortable warmth of a fire. Unlike many of her other patients, they showed a range of emotions rather than just one. 

Actually, they were not unlike the eyes of a dog. A big, clumsy pup that peed in your bed, broke your favourite coffee mug and hijacked your momentarily unguarded sandwich off the kitchen table, yet still you couldn't be mad at him. Emilie smiled a little despite herself. As she finished her inspection she released the pressure on his tongue and took the rod out of his mouth. She glanced at him while wiping the instrument clean. _Oh, yes. Most definitely dog eyes._ “That seems to be in order,” she said as she put the instrument back into the pocket of her coat after cleaning it. She adjusted her glasses. “Now, before I look at the rest of your injuries,” she continued. “I will first set your arm back into its proper location. Though I will need your cooperation for that, Mr Findlay”. 

“Anythang for you, suggah,” he drawled his response. When she looked at him he winked. Emilie could feel her cheeks flush and hoped that it wasn't too visible on the outside. “Can A ged up,” he continued after a moment, “or will ya force me back doown again?” Something in his voice told her he didn't mind her doing that much. 

“You can get up,” Emilie answered. “Here, let me help you,” she added, giving him support behind his shoulders to help him sit up on the examination table. Leaning on his good arm he turned 90° and swung his legs off the table. “So, doc, how are we goonna fix ma arm?” he asked as he turned his head to look at her. 

Momentarily a frown appeared on her face, but it was soon replaced by a slightly grim expression. “With a lot of force, I fear,” she answered as she beckoned him to get up, taking a step backwards. However, having underestimated his width, she didn't step away quite far enough. He bumped into her as he got onto his feet, tipping her off balance and sending her sprawling. With a yelp and the clatter of metal instruments she fell to the floor. 

“Ohh dooc!” he responded as he reached the hand of his good arm towards her, offering her help with getting up. “Ah' noh Ah'm handsome, but ya ain't needin tah fall for me”. 

Emilie stared at him for a moment in disbelief. Had he really just said that? That was the lamest slight she had heard since... ever. He smiled that crooked grin at her, his amusement reflected in his auburn eyes, while still holding his hand stretched out towards her. She ignored it and scrambled up while grabbing her fallen instruments and stuffing them back into her pockets. Belatedly she realised she wasn't bending through her knees while doing this, therefore undoubtedly giving him quite an eye full. Straightening, she quickly turned around. Save for his arm, which now hung beside him, nothing had changed. If anything, the grin had become a fraction wider. “Woow, doooc,” he responded as he cocked his head slightly, a flash of teeth visible from between his grinning lips. “Ya've ah mighty fine... form”. 

Emilie wasn't sure which one she thought was more lame, this one or the previous one. What especially mystified her was why she felt somehow flattered by them. “I work out a lot,” she replied, not entirely without sarcasm, “hauling around 363 pounds of swooning testosterone does wonders to one's gluteus maximus”. As she spoke she walked up to him and took his dislocated arm, placing one hand under his elbow and the other around his wrist, her fingers around it not quite meeting. Even the dead weight of his arm alone seemed a lot to her. “You will need to help me,” she continued, not allowing enough time between her remarks for him to comment. “The muscles keeping your arm normally in its socket are very strong and taut due to your... work-outs. However, presently they keep your arm securely out of its socket.” She paused for a moment. “I cannot hope to set it alone, the muscles are too strong for me to stretch,” she added. “I will need you to move your centre of gravity past your balance equilibrium, which will cause your body mass to shift and...” Something in the look he gave her made her stop in the middle of her explanation. “What?” 

“Ahh, English, doc?” he asked, a slight crease in his brow. 

“Oh... I meant, I want you to hold my arm and lean away from me, using your weight to stretch you shoulder's muscles,” she explained quickly, “so that we can put your arm back in its proper place”. 

“Ah can do that,” he replied as he nodded in acknowledgement that he understood what she wanted him to do. Planting his feet securely, slightly further away from each other, he smiled as he glanced at her, “all right doc, ready when you are.” 

“Ok,” she confirmed as she grasped his arm tighter while also taking a more secure stance as he closed the hand of his hurt arm around her lower arm, an inch or two below her elbow. “On my mark, one... two... three...!” 

A fraction before the last syllable left her lips his hand closed around her much thinner arm like a vice. She could feel her bones bend towards each other under the tremendous pressure. As she heard him stifle a pained groan she wondered for a fraction of a second what would give in first: his corded steel muscles or her poor ulna and radius. She feared the last but desperately hoped the first. 

As he pulled harder on his arm, forcing her to use her entire weight as a counter balance, the pain in hers became almost unbearable. She felt her bones nudge ever closer to one another, felt sure they would soon snap like dry twigs in his iron grip. 

Frustrated his vexed muscles wouldn't give; Findlay suppressed a grunt as he roughly threw his weight away from his shoulder. Emilie screamed in pain as she felt the thin bones of her arms touch under his briefly tightened grip, while a sickening 'shrunk' and then 'pop' sound rang disturbingly loud through the room. 

His shoulder's muscles had finally given in. Momentarily overstretched they had shifted his arm and then jerked it home, slamming his humerus back into its joint with a force that send a tremor through his shoulder which radiated up his arm and to the very tips of his fingers, not unlike the unpleasant jolt caused by hitting one's elbow. 

A moment passed before Findlay tentatively flexed his arm and let go of hers. As he did so his fingertips and thumb revealed her skin to be a ghastly, blood-drained shade of white underneath them. Yet within seconds it acquired a blue hue that became ever darker, as blood rushed back into the minuscule and clearly ruptured veins under her skin, until the outline of his broad fingers were clearly marked down upon her arm. Emilie rubbed it gently. Fortunately, her bones had held. A bruise seemed a minor injury compared to the fact that a double bone-break had been a very real alternative. No matter how painful the bruise was.  
“Well, at least it’s back where it belongs,” Emilie commented, a bit strained and out of breath. “How does it feel, Mr Findlay? Can you move everything?” she continued a moment later while gently taking his hand and moving the fingers, “does it hurt anywhere when I do this?”

“Nope, feels just fiiine,” he responded as she proceeded to his elbow and then shoulder. “How about you suggah, Ah didn't hurt ya did Ah?” He looked at her arm as if he feared it would come off any second now. 

She observed him for a long moment. While it wasn't the first time that treating a patient had left her with bruises, it sure as hell was the first time one had seemed genuinely concerned with the discomfort they had caused her. “Not too much, no,” she finally answered dismissively while picking up her holoboard and jotting down some notes about her treatment. “Please lay down again, Mr Findlay.” 

“Oh, on your stomach, please,” she added when she saw him sit down on the examination table and lean backwards. Lying down anyway he turned onto his side and then stomach, trying not to put weight on his injured arm. While he did this she let her gaze slide across his body, taking in the damage that had been done to it. Somehow only now did her mind actively register his nudity. A realisation that made something squirm in the pit of her stomach as her gaze fixed onto his back side, her hands suddenly aching to touch it. Shaking her head she tried to clear her mind. Injuries. Treatment. _Focus_. 


	3. Chapter 3

The bruises seemed to be largely clustered around his shoulders and across his back, especially along his spine. In various locations the bruising was so severe that they formed large, darkly discoloured patches. Spreading her fingers she pressed her fingertips against his neck, moving them down inch by inch to verify that they were indeed only bruises. As she did this, she glanced at his face to see if it caused any discomfort. However, his face stayed plain.

Stopping short of his hips she resisted the urge. The lowest part of his spine was most definitely bruise free and there was therefore no reason for her to want to touch it. Or at least, so she firmly told herself. It was in that same moment that it occurred to her that he might not tell her if an area she touched hurt unless it _really_ hurt. Thus she decided to do the exam again, this time using part of her weight to press more firmly. There was a flinch, little more than a minuscule twitch at the corner of his mouth, when she pressed onto the first bruise with her fingertips. Good. If she used the same pressure each time she would be able to identify if any injuries were more severe by his reaction. After once more canvassing his back it turned out that, aside from the half a dozen clusters of bruises, he was otherwise fine.

Walking to the nearest cupboard she took out a tube not much bigger than a tube of tooth paste. Clicking the tube open she squeezed some of the blue salve inside it on the fingertips of her index and middle finger while walking back to her patient. “This will cool a little as well as prevent more swelling while stimulating cell regrowth to heal you,” she said as she leaned over his back and gently rubbed the salve onto a patch of bruised skin. After having done so she took the spray can and sprayed a thin layer of its clear liquid content over it, which quickly solidified into a thin yet strong translucent layer firmly attached to his skin. Swiftly and expertly she gave the other bruise clusters the same treatment. 

While doing so she was once more struck by the familiarity of their appearance. Yet this time she managed to tug free the memory associated with them. Four and a half year ago, before she came to work here at New Folsom, she had worked at a hospital in Augustgrad on Korhal IV. There had been riots, supposedly led by the Sons of Korhal rebels, in the streets for days before Confederate forces arrived to restore the peace. She smiled wryly while passing a hand over one of the bruise clusters on Findlay's right shoulder. That evening the hospital had been flooded with civilians covered in similar injuries. They were bruises caused by boots and nightsticks. 

She glanced at his face, leaned to one side against the pack of liquid ice she had given him. He wasn't looking at her for once. _Had the wardens beaten him into this state? Why? What could he have possibly done that required four men to beat him?_ Anger flared up inside her so fiercely it startled her. 

“All right, you can turn back again, Mr Findlay,” she said when she had collected her nerves. 

“Ya want me tah turn over again?” he asked as a hint of his previous grin slipped back onto his face, “make up ya mind, doooc”. 

Emilie opened her mouth to say something, but decided it was probably wiser to ignore his unsubtleties. It was already becoming difficult enough for her to do her job without him making unveiled allusions. She pointedly looked away as he turned around, staring at the floor until he had lain down again. When he had done so she repeated the procedure of using pressure to make sure he had no other injuries aside from bruises. After confirming this she gave them the same treatment as the ones on his back. 

As she put salve on a patch of bruised skin on his left hip she noticed rather peculiar marks on the inside of his loin. A puzzled frown creased her forehead as she absent-mindedly picked up his genitals and held them out of the way, allowing her to better examine the small wounds. Her frown increased when she heard him groan, making her glance up at him to inquire what was wrong. 

“Hm. Juuust like tah, suggah...” he drawled as she caught his gaze, his bass voice having acquired an inflection she hadn't noticed before, while he pressed his loin up against her hand. Her heart skipped a beat and then resumed at twice its normal pace. Though hardly from fear. Something in the way he had spoken, not to mention the fact that his manlier body parts were being pressed further into her hand, made her insides squirm in delight once more. No, it couldn't be. She didn't have any _feelings_ for him. Right? 

“Please, Mr Findlay,” Emilie said as she closed her eyes, trying to clear her mind of obscene thoughts as she opened her hand, letting go of his lower anatomy. “ _Don't_ be an ass.” Collecting herself for a few seconds, she opened her eyes when she felt in control of her emotions once more. The first thing she saw were his auburn eyes, observing her quietly as a knowing smile attempted to pull the corners of his mouth up. The second thing were his genitals, which had flopped down onto his stomach after having been released, but not lying quite as flat as they had before. Trying to ignore this fact she turned her attention back to the newly discovered injuries she had been examining not a minute ago. 

They appeared to be small, circular marks. The skin around them was clearly burned to varying degrees. She had never seen anything like them on another human being before. Only when she noticed how they were always in groups of two, equally spaced an inch from one another, did she figure out what had caused them: a cattleprod. Her insides winched. Why was she so damn upset about what she had just found out? It was hardly a surprise to her that the wardens were cruel to the inmates, judging from how charming they were with her. Then why did she feel on the verge of tears? She knew why. 

“Why did they do this to you?” Emilie asked as she glanced up at him. 

“Oohh, Ah ran afoul with this guy, Valevoss and...” he started casually. 

“Against popular belief, Mr Findlay,” Emilie interrupted him as she walked to the head of the table to stand by his shoulders, leaning over him to look him in the eyes, her hands on her hips, again. “I'm not stupid. We both know very well these injuries were not caused by a brawl.” A minute passed in silence as she waited for him to answer her question truthfully. “Mr Findlay,” she finally continued, when he failed to volunteer the truth, as she straightening. “Do you know what cattleprods are?” 

“Ah'm from a tiny shamble o' shacks on Mar Sara. Only damn thang evah came through there were truckers an' ranchers,” he answered as he pressed himself up into a sitting position. “Ah 'noh all about them cattleprods, suggah.” Swinging his legs across the examination table he turned bodily towards her and deposited a leg on either side of where she stood as he put his hands flat on the table behind himself and leaned back onto them. 

“Those,” she said, standing less than two feet away from him, while pointing at his loin and forcing herself to maintain eye contact, “are marks from a cattleprod. The chances of another of my patients finding one of those around here and using it in a brawl against you while both of you are supposedly serving a life-sentence in _solitary_ cryogenic incarceration are astronomically slim. If you want me to buy your lies, you will have to do better than this.” 

For a long moment Findlay looked at her while leaning slightly forward, sizing her up as if trying to read something from her face and body language. As he did so his previously boisterous attitude fell from him as rapid as a brick through thin air, replaced by a much grimmer, brooding demeanour. His eyes narrowed slightly, their mirth snuffed out so instantaneously it sent a chill down Emilie's spine. Letting her hand casually slip into her pocket she inched it towards the small injection gun she carried, her fingertips tentatively seeking its hilt. 

“They think Ah know where an ol' buddy o' mine is hidin',” he finally said while leaning back onto his hands. It seemed he had decided she might be harmless after all. She had a good hunch at who he meant with they. Emilie quietly let her breath slip when she noticed she had been holding it. “Do you?” she asked before she could stop herself. 

“Even if Ah did, Ah wouldna be tellin' you, doc,” he responded, a hint of surprise in his voice, as if amazed that she would think he might hand over the information his captors were trying to pry from him just like that. 

“I would never tell it to them!” Emilie responded after a moment of silence on a slightly wounded tone when realising what he was implying. He thought she was trying to get the information from him the wardens hadn't been able to pry lose! That she was some sort of new tactic to get what they wanted. For some reason his insinuation didn't just offend her, it stung. 

A glimpse of fondness flitted across his face when he saw her reaction, softening his harsh features. “Ah 'noh ya wouldna,” he answered as he sat up. “But,” he continued as he looked at her, their faces nearly on the same height and their noses barely a hand's breadth apart, his expression serious. “Ah don want them tah try an' force it from ya, so Ah better keep it to mahself”. 

Part of Emily's insides suddenly became very, very cold. If he told her, would they really try to ... make her tell them? She looked at Findlay and the dozens of injuries canvassing his body. Had they really done all this, for a scrap of information? “You should tell them,” she said, unpleasantly reminded of the increased severity of the injuries detailed in her examination reports the past weeks. 

“He's mah buddy, suggah, Ah ain't tellin' em nuthin',” he responded. “Besides,” he added, the corners of his lips twitching as he looked at her, “this waaay Ah get ta visit mah cuute lady doctor, loooads”. 

“They won't stop,” she insisted, a slight furrow creasing her forehead. She was at once flattered and appalled by the idea that he might hold his ground because it would allow him to see her more often, as a side benefit to being a loyal friend. However, it was going to get him seriously injured sooner rather than later, she was sure of it. The thought of that caused her stomach to turn. 

“Nooo need ta crease ya prretty snout fooor meh,” he replied. Though his tone was casual it was clear from his expression that he was mildly surprised at being on the receiving end of her compassion. “Ah'll be juust fiiine. Ah'm gettin' prettier eeverytiiime”. 

“I like you the way you are,” Emily commented, her tone serious. She didn't consider his health a laughing matter. 

“Weeell Whadyanoh,”he said as a grin cracked onto his visage while lifting his right hand to her face, his fingertips lightly touching her cheek, “thaat makes two o' us, Emmy.” Leaning towards her he kissed her, his lips briefly pressed firmly against hers. They were warm and rough, and gone before she fully registered they were even there. She looked at him, perplexity momentarily written all over her face, and blinked. _Oh, drat,_ she thought as her insides made a queasy little leap. 

The grin on his face turned slightly sheepish as he opened his mouth to drawl up some lame excuse. Yet before he could say anything she took his head in her hands and returned his kiss. Feeling him startle at her, apparently unanticipated, reaction she smiled slightly to herself before wrapping her arms around his neck. He recovered quickly from his surprise though and returned her kiss. As he did so he pulled her closer, his thick, muscular arms crossing and closing behind her back like a vice, a large hand planted firmly on either side of her hips, pinning her against his chest. 

Yet her heart did not leap into her throat in sheer terror of his constricting hold - quite the contrary. She could feel it plummet down onto her stomach, no lower, definitely lower, and burst into a cloud of butterflies upon impact. Hundreds of butterflies. Actually, when she felt his hands drop down to her behind, one ardently tugging at her long skirt, it felt more like thousands of butterflies. Millions, even. His way of kissing her was becoming proportionally more intimate as well. 

She trembled slightly when his hands slipped under her skirt and brushed her thighs briefly before firmly grabbing her bum. She trembled, but not of fright. In the past 30 seconds her body had made it crystal clear to her that it had missed the kind of attention only a man could give. Sorely. Giving into the compelling feelings she pressed herself as close against him as she physically could. 

“An here Ah thought Ah was tah only one bein' looonesum,” he muttered into their kiss. Emilie momentarily broke the kiss, pulling back slightly to be able to look at him, as a faintly melancholic expression slipped onto her face. “This place... it isn't only lonely for men, you know?” she said softly, her eyes cast downwards. She wondered briefly if he thought she was only interested in him out of loneliness. _Was she_? 

“Ohh, yu poor thang...” he responded, his voice a low rumble, as he leaned his head towards her to continue their kiss while slipping one hand into her underwear. Regarding his auburn eyes, half closed and fixed upon her mouth as he leaned towards her, she decided it didn't matter. Her flow of self-doubt inspired thoughts were instantly disrupted by his intimate touch anyway. 

Several minutes passed before he broke their kiss again. Leaning his head past her face, close to her ear, his cheek brushed past hers. “C'mon, suggah, giive it tah me,” he muttered as he touched her, his bass voice barely more than a low, rumbling whisper. Emilie whimpered softly, feeling his warm breath against her ear, the deep rumble of his voice sending a tremor through his chest, and his strong hands on her body, touching her in all the right places. She could feel it steadily increase her pleasure, becoming ever more urgent. Leaning her cheek against his, soft moans escaped her lips as she clung to him, one hand between his shoulder blades as the other held tightly on to the back of his neck. She had missed the touch of a man so much. 

When he heard her sweet noises in response to his ministrations he leaned his head a bit backwards and looked at her, their noses almost touching. Her eyes were nearly closed, a light flush to her cheeks. He kissed her slightly parted lips briefly, almost tenderly, his caresses becoming more vigorous, more intense, all the while. She gasped slightly in response, the little moans escaping her more and more often as she compulsively leaned back to meet his touch. 

It was nearly becoming too much for her to bear, too intense. The muscles in her back ached and it felt as if every nerve in her body was keenly aware of his presence. The world seemed to fade out of existence, except for those spots where his body touched hers. Even though she already held herself as close against him as was physically possible, she tightened her grip, still not feeling quite near enough to him. Closing her eyes she dug her fingertips into the strong muscles beneath them as her body tensed, her muscles drawn taut, desperate for release. When it came her eyes flew open and locked onto his, a light tremor in her moan. “Tychus...” she whimpered, her body trembling. 

“Hmm,” he rumbled as he pulled her lightly quavering form onto his lap, her back against his chest. He laid his left arm across her stomach as he leaned his head against hers, his left hand absently palming her thigh while his right hand idly toyed with the edge of her slipover. “Now look what ya did, suggah,” he muttered hoarsely, close to her ear. As he spoke he flexed the muscles in his left arm, pressing her firmly down against his loin, a low groan escaping his lips as he did so. 


	4. Chapter 4

A warm shiver ran up Emilie's spine when he pressed her against his arousal, a pleasant smile slipping around her features quite unbidden. She glanced up at him, their noses briefly touching as she turned her head. Outwardly, he seemed calm but she could see his insides were churning. He was breathing through his nose, his breaths slow and deep, heavy, and his chest rising and falling under its labour. He sat easy, yet his tensed muscled rippled under his rough and scarred skin. His expression was neutral, safe for the minuscule lift in the tips of his eyebrows above his nose and the flexing of a thin jaw muscle at the back of his cheek. But most of all she could see it in his eyes. They were somehow brighter, alerter, and very much focussed on her. She knew what he wanted, could see it lurking just below the surface. Yet he didn't do anything. He sat silently, nearly still. Waiting. Waiting, she realised, for her to let him. 

“Tychus...” she whispered, a faint smile on her face “I want you too...” As she spoke the last words she leaned back against him, reaching her hand to his cheek and placing a soft kiss on the edge of his jaw. A moment passed as he merely looked at her. Then he leaned his head down and returned the kiss while getting up from the metal table, his arms loosely draped around her. 

Emilie turned around in his arms as she took her slipover off. One of his hands quickly found its way to her only half done blouse, easily undoing the buttons she had closed that morning. 

“Oohh... fancy, doc,” Tychus muttered when he saw her black-and-dark-grey stripped bra with its thin lace top. Emilie crooked an eyebrow, and then decided she didn't want to know what he considered normal. “Shaame to hiiide it,” he added, his voice having acquired a husky quality to it, his breathing still heavy. Pulling her close against him he turned around, towards the table. “Real shame,” he repeated as he kissed and slightly bit the soft skin of her neck, his hands wandering across her body. 

“You can exaggerate,” Emilie responded with a chuckle, her hands caressing his shoulders and corded neck muscles. 

“Ah'm nooot,” he replied, his voice muffled as he kissed up to her lips. Finding his mouth first Emilie pressed her lips to his, each immediately opening their own to allow a more intimate kiss. Putting her arms once more around his neck she kept him close, her fingertips caressing the base of his skull. 

Taking a step closer to her, he put his hands on her thighs. Hooking his thumbs under the edge of her skirt he ran his hands up, taking her garment with them. A faint, mewly noise escaped her mouth when she felt him step closer, and then press against her. Separated only by the thin fabric of her underwear she could feel the warmth of his loin and the firm press of his arousal. 

Kissing fiercely still, Tychus put his right arm close around her, leaned his elbow on the table and he spread his hand across the centre of her back to support her. When he slipped his left hand between the two of them Emilie momentarily feared he would rip her underwear. However, he didn't, instead merely pushing it to the side and out of the way. While pressing his hips close against her he took hold of the opposite edge of the table with his left hand. Yet he encountered resistance he hadn't expected. 

Emilie closed her eyes, concentrating on the kiss and willing herself to relax. Her muscles refused to give in. Her entire body appeared to be resisting the intrusion even though she wanted it. She wanted it so much. She could feel the hand supporting her back pull her closer as she thought she heard him grind his teeth together. Frustration? She thought with a flicker of worry. _What if he..._

“Just do it,” she said then, with more resolution than she felt, “I'll live”. 

Tychus glanced at her, breaking their kiss, a hint of a frown creasing his forehead. “Ya sure 'bout tah, suggah?” he muttered, his low voice rather faint. He was leaning close against her, their bodies pressed tightly to one another. 

Emilie nodded, wrapping her arms closer around his neck as she leaned her cheek against his. “Yes,” she whispered, barely audible. She could feel the muscles in his body snap taut in response. Clenching her teeth together she tightened her grip on him. 

She let out a soft yelp when she felt a sharp, stinging pain shoot up her spine as he entered her. It was a paralysing sting that found its way to the very tips of her fingers and toes. For a split second it felt as if her nerves had just burnt through. She hadn't been with a man in a while and certainly not one this generously endowed. Fortunately, the pain subsided swiftly. Loosening her grip on him, her nails had dug rather substantial dents in his skin; she leaned a bit backwards to glance at him. 

He had his eyes closed and his teeth clenched together, breathing heavily through his nose. “Ss-orry, suggah,” he groaned, his voice breaking. It was clear from his expression he was trying to keep himself in check. It seemed he hadn't been with someone in a while either. Several seconds passed before he opened his eyes and looked back at her. 

“See?” she said, mustering a cheerful note into her slightly strained voice as she carefully placed a kiss on the bridge of his nose. “I'm still alive”. 

“So Ah see,” he replied, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper as the hint of a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. “Ah remember this bein' easiah.” He winked at her, causing her to chuckle. 

“Don't be silly, Tychus...” she replied a moment later, holding on to him with her left arm as she laid her other hand against his cheek and kissed him. Smiling as she did so, she let her hand drop and put it around his waist, stroking the small of his back as she tugged him closer. “It's ok now”. 

“Hm-m,” he muttered, not really forming a literate reply, while taking a firmer grip on her as he pressed further inside her, before pulling away and repeating his action. Emilie let out a soft mewl as he did so, something that appeared to give him a measure of satisfaction, for his movement quickly became more substantial, and forceful. 

Something the weighted down table did not appreciate. Despite its very considerable weight, it moved. An annoyed grumble escaped Tychus when he noticed this. Straightening, he picked Emilie up by putting an arm under her bum in the way one might scope up a toddler. Looking this way and that he turned over 180º before walking to the left side of the room. Emilie held her arms tightly about his neck as she wrapped her legs around his waist, fearing she might fall. However, she quickly noticed that he had no difficulties whatsoever with holding her in this way. 

“Ya ain't tah heavy, Emmy,” Tychus commented, correctly anticipating her thoughts, as he walked towards the only empty stretch of wall. Stepping very close to it he leaned her with her back against the wall. Keeping one arm around her hips and behind to hold her up he took her chin in his free hand and kissed her. 

Unable to respond, and also not quite sure what to say to his remark, she returned his kiss as her hands traced the many lines of raised scar tissue canvassing his muscular body. She could feel him press inside her in a slow and deliberate pace that made her ache for more. Much more. Breaking their kiss she brought her mouth close to his left ear. “I want you... much more than this,” she whispered softly. She could feel him respond to her plea, muscles clenching and a low groan escaping his lips. His grip on her became stronger as he pressed himself inside her deeper and swifter, his pace steadily increasing as she kissed his cheek and jaw, gently running her fingertips across the other side of his face and neck, tracing one of the large muscles down to his collar bones. Kissing her way back to his lips, soft moans escaped from hers. “You won't hurt me,” she urged him on. “Take me, Tychus...” 

Spurred on by her sweet pleas he pressed her firmer against the wall and pulled one of her legs higher to give himself more space. With a grunt he pushed closer against her, kissing her forcefully. A moan escaped her lips as she felt his sudden and much deeper intrusion. She couldn't remember a man ever having reached quite that far. To her surprise, she rather liked it. Whimpering softly she clung to him. With but the faintest hint of pain the pleasure was quickly becoming overwhelming. She wanted him so much. All of him. 

“Oh, just like that,” she whimpered. “I liked that”. 

“Ah noh suggah,” Tychus muttered in reply, his whisper a low burr she felt as much as heard. Pressing close to her once more, drawing another moan from her lips, he braced himself and set it to a pace. 

Pinned by his body and tight grip there was little Emilie could do. Keeping an arm tightly around his shoulders she tried to maintain their kiss, but it was impossible. Little moans kept escaping her lips, making it difficult for her to keep their lips joined for long. She was rapidly losing herself in the moment. The world around her seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them. She was keenly aware of every move he made, every spot he touched, every sound he uttered. It drowned out everything else. 

Tychus put his free arm against the wall to steady his balance. He gritted his teeth together as he forced his body to keep up the pace. Even though his muscles were straining, his body aching in protest, he thrust harder, faster. His breath rapid and irregular he pressed his whole body against hers, forcing her tighter against the wall with his weight. Her moans were rapidly becoming louder. She was nearing her release. He could feel it in her tightening grip on his neck, her fingertips digging into his skin. 

Emilie could feel the bony edges of her hips press against his, though she was only faintly aware of the pain it caused. Overwhelmed by sensations, it was quickly becoming too much for her, the little moans she had uttered all the while rapidly becoming more profound. Alarmed by this, Tychus shifted and moved the arm with which he had leaned against the wall, swiftly pressing his free hand across her mouth to keep her from voicing her delight too loudly and rouse suspicion. Leaning on his elbow he tried to keep his balance, something which was becoming more and more difficult with every passing second. 

He glanced at her. She was breathing rapidly through her nose; he could feel her warm breath buffeting against his hand in short bursts. Her eyes were large and bright, a pleading expression creasing her brow. She was reaching her peak and begging him to do the same. The sight stirred feelings inside him he hadn't experienced in a while. Unable to keep himself in check any longer, his actions lost all pretence of regularity and caution as he reacted to her silent request. He was so close. The tremble of her smothered moan against the palm of his hand was the last incentive he needed. His body snapped taut as his corded muscles strained with the final thrust. He clenched his jaws together, grimacing while the muscles in his neck strained painfully from trying to keep silent himself, only a strangled snort managing to find its way out. 

He kept standing leaned against her, his breathing slow and heavy, as he let his hand slip from her mouth. Emilie sighed softly, coming back down from her high. Her eyes were heavy lidded, a pleasant smile around her lips. Looking up at him she remained silent, stroking the base of his skull. The low, deep-throated growl he uttered in response reminded her fondly of a dog being scratched behind its ear. 

“So,” he said, his voice low and husky, as a faint grin spread across his face, relighting that mischievous sparkle in his eyes, “ya cum here more often, suggah?” 

Emilie chuckled as she took his face in her hands. “Oh Tychus,” she responded as she shook her head faintly and pressed a kiss to his crooked grin, “you're hopeless”. Hugging him, she leaned the side of her head against his, her mind filled with a pleasantly fuzzy emptiness. She didn't want to let go yet, finding his presence rather comforting. If she let go, she would soon be alone again. She didn't want to be alone. Somehow the prospect of once more being alone seemed so much more terrible now. However, with every passing second in which she tried to deny it, the urgency of having to separate tugged more and more at her. On average she had about an hour to do her medical examinations. It couldn't be long now until someone would come and inquire about a change of patients. The results of anyone seeing them this way would undoubtedly be... unpleasant... With a sigh she loosened her grip on him. Possibly taking a cue from that, Tychus put her down as soon as she leaned her weight away from him. 

A chill ran down her spine as she felt him leave her and step away. She felt utterly abandoned. Her insides turned, overwhelmed by the need to hug him, to assure herself she was not alone. She resisted. Silently she straightened her clothes into a semblance of order as her consciousness was on the border of being swept under a tide of quickly rising, pitch black depression. 

“Here,” Emilie said as she picked up his discarded prison clothes and helped him dress. 

“Ya 'noh, them'll get wet 'n wrinkled up again in a min,” he commented when, after he had put them on, she quite unnecessarily dusted dirt off and creases out of the orange garment and attempted to fold its collar properly. 

Emilie glanced up at him as she stopped her fussing. Then she looked back down at the indescribably dirty garment. He was right, the only thing this shapeless rag needed was a torch. Then why was she fussing over it? She knew why. She was buying time, trying to postpone the moment where she had to call the wardens and hand him back to them. The moment where she would be all alone again. 

“Why tah loong face, doc?” Tychus inquired as he handed her the turquoise slipover and helped her pull it down and straight. When she didn't respond he took her chin and turned her face towards him, “hey.” 

“It's...” she considered telling him for a moment, spelling out exactly how miserable she felt in this place. How hopeless her future was. How unkind everybody else was. How lonely she was. “...nothing,” she said finally. Pulling her face free from his light grasp she put her lab coat on. 

“Oohh, ya ain't foolin' meee lady, thát look was definitely suumthin',” Tychus drawled as he put a hand on her shoulder and turned her around to face him once more. Emilie was surprised by his expression when she met his eyes. A frown creased his forehead, distorting the grotesque scar running along it, and the corners of his mouth were pulled down faintly. He regarded her... he looked somehow... worried? 

“I just...” she could feel moist gather in the corners of her eyes. Overcome by the flood of emotions that leapt at her she flung her arms around his shoulders. Clinging tightly to him she buried her face against his neck, biting her lower lip as she tried hard not to cry. Tears leaked from her eyes anyway. 

“Oh,” a noise of faint surprise escaped Tychus' mouth in response to her actions. Then he put his arms around her and hugged her firmly. “Don cryyy,” he added when he heard a stifled sob, patting her gently while hugging her tighter. 

“I just,” she started again, trying to steady her voice. “I feel so alone.” 

“Tah's ok, everyone feels lonely sumtiime,” Tychus answered, seemingly not quite sure what to do or in how far this was his fault. 

“Even more now,” she said, a hiccup in her voice, while still holding him tightly. “I...” she added as she glanced up at him, “I think I'll miss you... a lot”. There. She'd said it. 

“Noohh need for thaat, Emmy,” Tychus replied as a smile tugged at his face while he rubbed a tear off her cheek with his thumb. “Ah got ah liiive sentence, Ah'll be around”. Despite her sadness Emilie smiled faintly at his remark. 

“Thah's better,” he continued when he saw her smile, and gave her a kiss as he gently stroke her back and behind. Emilie returned his kiss, her hands wandering idly across the back of his neck and shoulders. 

The knock on the door startled both, though Emilie much more than Tychus, who immediately pressed her away from himself and stepped away an appropriate distance. Emilie quickly rubbed her sleeve past her eyes, hoping it wasn't too visible that she had cried. “Come in!” she said as she patted her clothes straight and picked up her holoboard. Pushing her glasses higher onto her nose she pretended to be busy making notes. 

“Hello again, _doctor_ ,” Sgt Larwin said as he entered the examination room, followed by three wardens. “I fear it is time for Mr Findlay's beauty sleep.” One of the warden's chuckled. 

“I am glad I managed to finish my examination in time then,” Emilie responded with a hint of sarcasm. Two of the wardens were holding chains, manacles and a fetter. “Please, Mr Findlay,” she said in as detached a way as she could manage, while motioning Tychus towards the two men. 

He complied without even looking at her, something that stung her unexpectedly. She chided herself though. It was paramount that they didn't find out what had happened. She was sure both their lives would turn even more miserable if they did. 

“It was a pleasure, as always, Emilie,” the Sergeant said after glancing at Findlay to make sure the convict was securely bound. “We will bring your next _patient_ in a few minutes,” he added as he turned around. 

Emilie glared at his back as he left the examination room, followed by the wardens trying to hustle Tychus out of the room. It took quite a bit of self-control to keep herself from stalking over and slapping them. Instead she contended with glaring and clenching her hands on the edge of the holoboard. When one of the warden's rapped his guard baton across the convict's back, Tychus glanced over his shoulder while turning around. Catching Emilie's eyes he winked at her before using his movement to slam his elbow against the offending warden's midriff. The man groaned and the other two wardens immediately pulled his binds tighter to restrict his movement. 

A small smile appeared on Emilie's face in response. It felt good having been with a man again, having his attention. Crude or not, she liked Tychus. She felt better now, having admitted that to herself. Less lonely. Maybe even happier. She watched them leave. Even after the door had closed behind them she kept looking at it. It was then that the full implications of her actions sunk into her brain. She'd been with a man. In this God-forsaken hole. Without a shred of protection. And with the next trade stop over a month away. She closed her eyes as she resisted the sudden urge to hit her head repeatedly against the holoboard she was holding. 

_Urgh, you stupid...!_

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of time and hard work went into the creation and publication of this story and as such it is very dear to me. I would love to hear what you thought of it. And please, share this story freely (preferably as a whole, by sharing this story's main page). You may quote it. Tumble it. Print it. Hug it. Make love to it (what?!). But credit me and link back to the page on AO3.org associated to what you shared. Thank you. <3


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